


Put A Ring On It

by cynosure_phrases



Series: Gastrell-verse [2]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: "It's A Handheld Disaster" Universe, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Established Relationship, M/M, Marriage Proposal, One Shot, POV Simon Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 21:27:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19934752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynosure_phrases/pseuds/cynosure_phrases
Summary: It feels like, sometimes, we appreciate it more than we did when we were younger.But our worlds changed.We found new ways to cope. New ways to love.-After years of being together, Baz finds the perfect spot to propose at.





	Put A Ring On It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HermioneGirl96](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermioneGirl96/gifts).



> wow! another addition to a fic that i otherwise finished! why don't i do!  
> but ok yes. i know. i know this is short, and just shameless fluff, but i felt the need to write the proposal scene as a gift for lin, because this has been a topic of our conversation a couple times, so it only feels proper to finally write it out <3 (and this took a month and a half longer than i'd originally intended it to take. but. oh well.)

“You really won’t tell me where we’re going?”

The cellophane wrap around the flowers squeaks as I squeeze the stems, letting them roll in my hands as Baz’s fingers keep snuggly wrapped around my bicep. I feel his index and middle finger tap a few times while the soft rumble of his voice just barely escapes the thundering noise of the underground.

“No.”

My lips press together as I huff, staring out into darkness.

Fucking drama queen, with his blindfolding and romantic gestures.

“I hate you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

I can’t stop myself from smiling, even if it’s a tiny smirk. “Never have. Doesn’t change the sentiment, though.”

His hand curls tighter, pulling the fabric of the nice shirt  _ he _ made me wear. The car jostles, and we roll our feet with the track’s bumps. It isn’t really jarring, but instead a bit calming. Baz’s head drops to the top of mine, settling there as his hair falls down and brushes my cheek. I move to push it off, but it falls right back into place.

“Do you not trust me?” Baz murmurs, his hand sliding down to mine as my nose wrinkles.

“Of course I do,” I protest back, taking hold of his hand and pressing out palms together. His fingers sink right into place. “After nearly half a decade, I don’t think I have much a choice, do I?”

Pause. “No, not really.”

“Thought so.” We lean against one another, the car of the train rocking a bit and starting to squeal into the next station. 

“Mind the gap between the train and the platform,” it stirs, the masculine voice speaking over head before changing to, “This is, Bakers Street.”

Baz gives my arm a good tug, leading us out of the Tube as I blink curiously. Yes, sure, there’s a few things around here that are worth the trip. Like that one shop with the fantastic lemon poppy muffin, or the zoo, and of course the Gastrell museum, but it’s all usually a bit of a splurge given our usual budget (especially since his father stopped sending cheques once we graduated).

“Can I take off the blindfold yet?” I ask, feeling him pull me out towards the stairs.

“Not yet,” he calls, steps ahead and voice getting lost amongst the crowd. In hopes of keeping him close, I tighten my grip and carefully follow him step by step.

The crowd keeps around us, and finally breaks as we rise up into the outside, city air.

It’s a change in volume now. Moving cars, passing busses, and the remarkable scent of the nearby street cart vendors.

Baz drifts close enough that I can take hold of his bicep, feeling the slight chill of his skin underneath as I walk closely to his side. “How far?”

He hums beside me, other hand closing around our joint ones as the wrap for the flowers audibly catch on his face. “Not even five minutes--will you hold up until then? Please?”

I sigh, dramatically, and tighten the hand around his arm. “ _ Five minutes? _ ” I enthuse dramatically. “Better be for the bloody Queen.”

“I thought I was the queen of this town?”

“Drama queen, maybe.”

I feel a pinch at my arm, and I can’t help but smile, tugging him closer as we slow our strides. His hand circles around mine, rubbing my wrist and soothing my nerves as we step in time together. It feels like we’ve always been like this--in synch. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but we’re always in this rhythm.

I wonder, sometimes, if that’s what made me fall in love with him. The beat. A nonstop back and forth. A pace to our connection.

Something irreplaceable. Something I don’t know if anyone could ever replicate.

We weave about and walk in time until we get to a stop. He tugs my arm back, looping his free hand around my elbow as I halt and turn at his will. Suddenly, he lets go before steady hands work around my skull, unwrapping and untying the careful knot in my blindfold.

Once it falls, I see it in fine, carved lettering.

“The Huxley Gastrell Museum”

I turn slowly back, barely seeing the excitement contained on Baz’s face as he tries to gesture up cooly. “Well?”

“Holy shit,” I laugh. I don’t have much else to say, or do, besides hug him tight, nearly making the flowers fly everywhere as I exclaim “Holy shit!” once more.

He smirks proudly, arms circling around me and tugging our bodies together. Keeping mindful, I carefully tuck my face into his neck and press a soft, slow kiss to his skin. It’s a bit cold to the touch, but easy to indulge in.

He hums, clearly grinning as he speaks. "Happy anniversary, my love."

Pulling back, my face starts to hurt from all the smiling. "Fuck you, and your surprises," I breathe cheekily, nose brushing his as I go in for the kiss.

We laugh together before he hauls me into line, letting me practically curl around his bicep and kiss his shoulder as often as I like. Screw anti-PDA bullshit, he's getting all my affections.

“How long have you been planning for this one, then?” I hum, glancing around the street as I think through it. Sure, he’s been putting in hours at the bookshop he’d took the job at last year, and we’ve been eating out a bit less, but I’d figured we’d just been saving generally.

Not that this is expensive, or anything. Just not something we tend to work towards spending money on. Still, not a terrible surprise by any means, regardless as to how deep we are (or really,  _ aren’t _ ) in the fandom, nowadays.

It isn’t like we abandoned our love of it at all--quite the opposite, really. Our bedroom practically has a shrine, after all. Stacked special editions, antique copies of the book. Copper busts, the collector’s item dolls. Hell, Baz even got the same type of violin that Gastrell plays as a holiday gift two years ago that just sits there and collects dust as a display centrepiece. It feels like, sometimes, we appreciate it more than we did when we were younger.

But our worlds changed.

We found new ways to cope. New ways to love.

Healthier things to enjoy.

Our blogs are still up, but just shifted a bit. Mine ran out of focus and is mostly my shitposts now, while he’s moved towards more life-updates sort of shit. He’s got enough followers accumulated over time that they shockingly care about what we do now, but the overarching urge to post about Gastrell has died down.

Now it’s just people asking about our lives (and Penny’s too, by relation). It’s a bit amazing that people actually  _ care _ about shit like our relationship, but it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy when people ask if we’re planning on getting married. Which, we agreed that we’d wait until we were done schooling to figure out that far into the future.

Although, now that we’re done, it feels like neither of us have mentioned it. And, while it doesn’t feel awkward, it still comes back into my mind every now and again as a question. I tend to ignore it. Figured we’ll talk about it when he’s ready.

But now? Now we’re in a happy place, regardless. Separated from the past now, and moving towards a new life.

Which excludes most of our old online life--guess isn’t a shock, anyway. Given the fandom’s practically dead along with it. Still, we read reread the stories, rewatch the better episodes, and always use it as our go-to for a costume party. 

But it feels like history, now.

It’s still part of our history--Huxley and Sammy. Part of their story has become part of ours.

“Planned the museum idea a month or two ago,” he says, a bit self-righteously (still a prick, after all this time). “Good idea, though, isn’t it?”

“Suppose so.” I shrug up to him as we step ahead. “Lucky guess, but good idea.”

“I never guess on these sorts of things.”

“Liar.”

Together, we wrinkle our noses up to one another, then follow the line as it scoots closer, people piling into the bottom of the shop.

We’ve been down here before--we came here the first week we moved into London. Which, strangely, feels like centuries ago now.

We didn’t have much money to do anything, but we just wanted to peer inside, given this space is free. Fiona bought us some housewarming mugs here that day.

I smile when I see the same ones, looking over them as we brush past and head towards the ticket booth for the proper parts of the building.

Baz pays with cash as I lean against his arms, trying to get a good look up and sniffing my flowers happily. It looks like what I’d imagined from the book--especially with the way Baz peppers in emphasis on details.

He reads a story aloud whenever I can’t sleep. We’ve gotten through all the stories twice now.

I tug on his sleeve again as he’s thanking the ticketer, practically buzzing as he laughs at me and finally follows along as I dash up.

“Why don’t we start at the top?” Baz says gently as I practically skip my way upwards. “Work our way down?”

I shrug, nodding silently as we brush past other people stopping off immediately at the second floor. I tug him along, taking some steps two at a time to get up and finally start to look about the space. And, while it isn’t quite boring, the third floor fascinates us both a bit more, despite the wax sculptures feeling a bit creepy. I’ve never quite been one for lifelike shit that isn’t living, after all.

Still, it’s interesting. The staple items--the ones to gawk at. The ones I tug his arm over, watching him grin as I excitedly sneak in references.

He stays a bit silent most of the time, his hand in his jacket (which I probably should make fun of him for--it feels a bit too warm for thicker clothes). Sometimes I catch him staring at me instead, which I tease him a bit for, but he nudges my arm and rolls his eyes as his response.

“There’s only one Gastrell Museum,” I remind him at one point.

He shrugged, which made me feel a bit off, but I shrug away the thought. Maybe something to talk about later.

I do catch him after we make it down to the second floor, though. Give him a good peck on the cheek as we huddle into a corner.

He raises a brow as I stare up, one hand settling onto his chest.

“Just… wanted to say thank you for a fantastic present,” I whisper. “I don’t know if my anniversary breakfast quite lives up to this one.”

His face breaks into a private grin, eyes rolling as he kisses my cheek back. “I thought the pancakes were an excellent effort,” he whispers, making my cheeks flush.

Effort is the right word for them.

“Thanks,” I scoff softly before we step into the main room, glancing briefly before deciding to head through the back rooms first before taking it all in.

It’s fun to gaze around the bedrooms, sure, but I’m practically bouncing on the balls of when we make it back to the main one.

Baz lets go of me as I take a step closer to their armchairs set up, borderline vibrating as I peer around the space in front of me. “Hey Baz,” I start, going to spin around as I speak. “Can we take a picture of--”

I nearly drop my fucking flowers, staring wide-eyed as he exhales, kneeling down and staring up at me with raised eyebrows.

“Holy--”

His smile and hand movement cuts me off as he opens a box, grinning like a madman. I swear, I’ve never seen him this genuinely joyful. Half makes me wonder if he’s just having a laugh, but fucking hell, the ring that he’s got int here looks expensive and  _ old _ . “Simon,” he says gently. “I could give you a year’s-long speech about why I love you, but it’s never going to properly summarize how I feel. You have been, and still are, the most important thing in my life, and I’d be honored if you--”

“Stop rambling,” I laugh, bending down to grab his face. “Yes,  _ of course _ I’ll marry you.”

He blinks, a little taken aback by my response, but ends up just pushing himself up and snogging me, right in the middle of the room.

Screw the fannish shit I wanted to do--kissing Baz in the middle of the Gastrell museum is probably both the best possible and most appropriate thing for us to do here.

After all, it is part of our history.

**Author's Note:**

> ik ik this was mentioned in my notes for "it's a handheld disaster", but i only felt it proper to establish their lives post-fic, so here it is. them being cute little bastards in love. i hope you enjoyed xoxox anï


End file.
